


The Ashkhan's Son

by GalacticHalfling



Series: In Fair Resdaynia [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Ashlanders a.k.a. Velothi, Gen, Head-Canon, bad summary, pre-First-Council, somewhat fairytale-like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26931454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticHalfling/pseuds/GalacticHalfling
Summary: A story from the first era told in later days among Ashlanders.
Relationships: sort of background Azura/OC
Series: In Fair Resdaynia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625218
Kudos: 2





	The Ashkhan's Son

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by that part in the '5 Songs of Wulfharth' where Alandro is called 'the immortal son of Azura'.  
> Thanks for beta reading goes to the friends from my local writers' group.

Come, gather round, and listen to the tales of yore. Listen well, for great wisdom lies in learning from the deeds of our ancestors.  
Once, in the days before fair Resdaynia had been darkened by the presence of men upon her shores, there lived a wise and proud ashkhan of a great Velothi tribe. He was old and he had but one son whom he loved with all his heart. The boy despite having barely grown into adulthood was already a skilled and cunning hunter who possessed wisdom beyond his years. He was called Ayetul, as his mother had named him before she died of the hardships of childbirth.  
One day when Ayetul was out in the wilderness with the other hunters a great storm came and destroyed much in its wake. The people of his tribe were in great fear for their lives, and even more for the lives of their hunters who were so far away from shelter. But no one was more afraid than the ashkhan who feared for his dear son.  
It must be said that in those days storms as terrible as that one were rare on Vvardenfell, for this tale took place before the vile Dwemer awakened the Red Mountain’s wrath, and all of Vvardenfell was still full of lush forests and green meadows.  
For three days the storm raged. And on the third day two hunters made it back to the tribe, but Ayetul was not one of them.  
When the ashkhan demanded to know of the other hunters’ fate they said that their group had been separated in the storm and that they did not know what had become of their comrades.  
Soon, when the storm had calmed down, the ashkhan sent warriors out to look for the missing hunters. One they found, dead. But no trace was there of Ayetul.  
Heart filled with equal measures of hope and dread, the ashkhan himself set out to find his son. He searched high; he searched low, but could find neither hide nor hair of his beloved Ayetul.  
At last the ashkhan returned to his camp, knowing that he could do nothing anymore but wait and pray.  
He was so stricken with worry that he fell ill, and still he prayed not for his own well-being but only for that of his son.  
Finally, one night, when he lay in fitful sleep, Azura heard his desperate cries and appeared before him in his dreams. “Fear not, for your son is unharmed and shall return to you in due time,” the goddess said, and at her words the old ashkhan took heart, and his health returned to him.  
But the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and still there was no sign from Ayetul. And though the ashkhan had always been a wise mer, and had never before wavered in his faith, he begun to doubt Azura’s words, for why should his son not return to him nor send a message if not because he had died? He did not speak of his worry knowing well that doubting the goddess was blasphemy. But the love for his son outweighed his reason and faith, and so his fear grew until once more it took away the strength of his body and he fell ill with a fever that no potion or spell could cure. And this time, he knew, he would not recover and soon the other members of the tribe understood that, too. They started to talk among themselves what would become of them if their ashkhan should die while his heir was still missing. There he prayed: “Azura, let not my tribe suffer for my weak faith – my failing is not theirs.”  
The goddess did not speak to him again, and in fact that very night the ashkhan’s illness took a turn for the worse so that the wisewoman predicted that he would not live another day. There the gulakhans and the senior hunters gathered to pay final respect to their leader. And among them appeared a mer in a fine cloak and clothing better than even the best needle womer of the tribe could sew. No one knew how he had arrived, but it seemed to all that he truly belonged among their number. He walked to the ashkhan and knelt by his side. The hood slid from his face and it was Ayetul who knelt next to his father.  
“My son, where have you been?” the ashkhan asked.  
“My heart knows but my mind has no words,” replied Ayetul.  
“Then tell me at least if you are well.”  
“My only grieve is that my loss made you lose both your health and faith.”  
At that the ashkhan smiled and died. Ayetul was saddened by his father’s passing but he did not grieve for long for he knew as well as all true children of Veloth do that no ancestor is ever truly gone. 

Ayetul was made the new ashkhan and he led his tribe with wisdom and cunning. The years of his leadership were blessed with good fortune and his tribe had but one complaint with him: That he would not take a wife. No matter how much the gulakhans urged him, he would not be moved. With time they gave up their attempts to sway him, many thinking up their own explanations for his refusal – for when they asked Ayetul he only ever spoke in hints and riddles much like he did when asked about the year he had been missing.  
Ayetul led his tribe for many a century. But finally as it is with all mortals he grew old and as his death approached the tribe asked him to choose a successor. “If Azura wills it my son may lead. Else my cousins shall decide among themselves under the eyes of Boethiah.”  
There they believed that age had already taken his reason since Ayetul had no son. And as the time of Ayetul’s death came his gulakhans who both were his distant cousins prepared to fight. But very nearly everyone was dissatisfied with that solution since both mer were great warriors whom the tribe didn’t want to miss yet at the same time neither of them had patience for little else besides the arts of war and wouldn’t have made good leaders in times of peace.  
But the wise woman came to them and told them to stay their hands for Azura had sent her a dream vision telling her that the late ashkhan had spoken truly after all. “Ayetul’s son shall arrive with the next dawn.”  
The gulakhans were angered for they had both gotten comfortable with the idea of becoming the next ashkhan but they were pious mer and so they stayed their hands.  
And so the tribe gathered to await the dawn. Confused they were and worried, yet hopeful for they knew that Azura would never steer them wrong.  
When the sun rose, with the first light from the east a young mer came into the tribe’s camp. He rode no guar or nixhound, but he walked a-foot. He carried no sword or axe, but a quiver and a bow. He was as fair as the morning and as dark of hair as the night, and all who saw him swore that they had never seen a mer as striking as him. Many saw his coming and looked at him with wonder.  
“Who are you?” called one of the gulakhans.  
“Don’t you know? Where you not waiting for me?” replied the stranger.  
“We await our late ashkhan’s son,” said the gulakhan.  
“And here I am, Sul-Alandro, son of Ayetul. My mother sends me for you have need of me.”  
“Who is your mother?” they asked of him, but there he just smiled and answered: “She who gave birth to me.”  
They asked many questions more of him, chiefly among them if he could give proof of his lineage. So he called upon the ancestors of his father’s line and they heeded his call. Thus all had to accept that he was the son of Ayetul despite the mystery that surrounded him and that he refused to dispel.  
He led the tribe wisely and with great foresight; his fame grew even among the other tribes. For many centuries he remained unchallenged, people from far and near came to him to ask his council and he went to war against the Atmorans at the side of the Great Ashkhan Nerevar. But all his mighty deeds as well as his terrible end at the hand of the false gods are events that have their place in other tales. 

Some would tell this tale differently. They would say that when Ayetul was gone he had been magicked away to Azura’s realm of Moonshadow where he lived in her favor until his tribe had need of him again. And they would also mention that Alandro was in fact Azura’s son and immortal like her. But neither Ayetul nor Alandro ever spoke such words even when asked, so who are we to make such claims?

**Author's Note:**

> That Vvardenfell once had great forests is mentioned in “The Importance of Where” although I’m not sure if in canon the forests still existed in the First Era.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments and constructive critisism. English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes that me and my (equally non native speaking) betas might have missed.


End file.
